An Assassin's Assistance
by SylphinesBane
Summary: The untold story of how Elise found Arno's watch and returned it to him with the help of another assassin.


He woke with a jolt, as though someone had fired a pistol into the pre-dawn forest that was still scouring the sleep from its eyes. Nothing reached his ears at first except his heavy breathing as it misted like a halo around his face before dissipating into the crisp autumn air. The wrinkled leaves that had functioned as a bed complained harshly as he gained his footing and brushed strays from his clothing. They continued to crackle like logs consumed in a fire as Connor dug his weapons from the cache he had hidden them in the night before. As he swung his bow over his shoulder and secured it across his chest, he sensed eyes upon him and surveyed out from beneath his hood to catch a fawn and its mother staring motionlessly in his direction. He imparted a respectful nod before wading through the shallow layer of leaves that crusted over the forest floor. The racket he left in his wake made him cringe and he quickly leapt over the remaining mantle of discarded leaves to a trodden path. His movements now unrestricted by what the season's trees had shed; Connor stretched the remainder of sleep from his limbs. He had thought a brief rest on his way back to the Homestead would have rejuvenated his body, but he assumed wrong. The muscles he had overexerted immediately reminded him that more sleep was required and the wound he had sustained from his encounter with Charles Lee; although now a few years old, still pained him on occasion. He inhaled the rich, earthy air of autumn; relishing the scents of the changing season…until his old injury jabbed his side causing him to wince and exhale slowly; easing the pain into a dull ache. He needed to get home to Sarah and their son…that thought produced a smile on his usually resigned face.

When the boy had only seen six winters, Connor had begun his training the year before. Sarah had been uncertain about teaching a child the abilities that were his birthright, but Connor had reminded her how much he had known and seen when he was the same age. He had not meant for his childhood to silence her so abruptly; the anger and grief was his but she seemed to bare it as well. The knowledge of her with child a second time also silenced any further protests she might have had, half-hearted though they were. Their boy, now twelve, was an adept archer and hunter and Sarah had begun teaching their daughter the art of healing. She had announced to Connor before his sojourn that she was expecting their third child.

The excursion home was quiet as the sun began to wrap a blanket of obscurity over itself and the forest began to settle down for another cool autumn evening. Connor welcomed the incoming nightfall; it was a member of the Brotherhood; a blindfold to opponents and a shield in the shadows. His musings distracted him momentary from the carriage that listed unoccupied in front of the house. One badly recently repaired wheel handicapped the coach; its posture was weak and Connor patted the single horse sympathetically as he investigated the shabby, threadbare cushions and shoddy mending of the floor boards. The latch of the front door and the shadow cast from the door's occupant barely startled him, but the voice initiated the release of the blade hidden on his arm.

"I did not mean to come unannounced, forgive me….brother." The speaker spoke swiftly as though knowing what Connor's reaction might be.

"Nothing is true…" Connor declared to the shadow.

"Everything is permitted." The voice responded and sighed in relief as Connor retracted his blade.

. . .

"Alexandre, your English is excellent." Sarah complimented as she poured him another cup of tea. The French assassin nodded in gratitude as he humbly accepted the refill of his drink. She and the young man had been conversing for several hours before Connor's arrival. He had explained that his brusque appearance had been delayed for over a day due to his horse's encounter with a wounded wolf, startling the animal into a panic and tossing the coach into a ditch. He apologized profusely for reaching the homestead at such a late hour and any alarm he might have caused the family residing within. Sarah had shrugged off his regrets as Connor studied the Frenchman.

He was much younger than Connor, most likely a novice sent by his mentor, but for what purpose? The turmoil in France was no secret and Connor clandestinely applauded the revolution, but he did not want to involve himself directly. He had been educated on battlefields; real and political and the penalty for his contribution was a forfeiture of his people. It was a defeat only he bore; a turmoil he did not wish upon any.

"What brings you here, to me?" He baited, watching the man's reaction to his bluntly thrust question.

Alexandre placed his cup securely into its saucer and cleared his throat before answering,

"One of our Brothers seeks your assistance-"

"I cannot help you fight your war. Such a burden I will not carry, not again." Connor interrupted. Alexandre quickly projected an air of misunderstanding and defense as he waved his hands in front of himself.

"Non, non, that is not what I meant. My apologies if that is the impression I gave. My Brother merely seeks aid; the French Assassins are not involving ourselves in the politics surrounding our country. I came upon the instance of my own conscience." He chuckled nervously.

"You're conscience?" Connor briefly met eyes with Sarah as though to confirm with her that he needed to press the subject further.

"My Brother, Arno, he was …exiled from the Assassins and has since fallen into a drunken despair. " Alexandre lamented, capsizing into his chair in a desperate melancholy. This Arno, his banishment seemed to trouble the young man greatly.

"What did he do that required such a punishment?" Connor probed, his interest peaked by this predicament. Although Alexandre had lowered his guard and his hood while inside the home, he hung his head to hide some kind of shame.

"He fell in love with a Templar."

. . .

His gut lurched, slogging his mind through the haze of a drunken night gone sour. He could feel where he lay heave with each intake of breath as though he floating on a raft on the open sea. That comparison was not an amiable one, as the wine he drank desired to propose a toast to the ground outside of his stomach. He cringed as he implored the contents of his stomach to stay where they were as he wrestled with his eyelids to part. He regretted it forthwith, for while the sun flittered somewhat through the grains of dust that hung ever heavy in the air; it was not enough to shield him from the vindictive light that beamed happily on his wine-drowned face. The hoarse groan that fled from his mouth startled some creature that was also trying to make a home from the hovel that Arno was occupying. The hacking rasp that accompanied his guttural complaint stirred his stomach into further protest, knocking him onto his side and forcing him to draw his knees to his chest to silence the beast that had aspirations of freedom.

"Mon dieu…how much did I drink last night…" As Arno compelled his hung over, debilitated body to his hands and knees, he collided with empty bottles, hissing at the clatter that ensued. The clanking seemed to linger as it echoed in the empty halls he languished within. That hit him harder than the nausea that threatened his new pastime. He crawled to the nearest wall and slumped against it; defeated and disgusted with himself.

"I have not only failed myself but both of you as well…" He whispered as he strained to shut out the sunlight through the pounding in his head and the gurgling in his stomach. He absently reached for the watch he religiously carried and sighed as he delicately rubbed the worn surface before popping it open and staring at the crack that ran along the entire glass face. He snapped it shut and gripped it furiously as though to throw it across the floor when a shadow blocked out the sun.

"Arno…" The shadow lamented in pity.

"Leave me be!" He croaked, grabbing anything within arm's reach and scattering it in frustration. A cat hissed and growled in annoyance as the airborne refuse caused it to scurry to a safer place to lurk. The hovering, grieving shadow vanished along with the feline, causing Arno to curse for allowing himself to inhabit the past for as long as he had.

"Non, non…I won't let you harass me any longer..." He staggered to his feet and paying no heed to the pulverizing pain in his temples nor the queasiness boiling in his belly, he fumbled for a bottle in the heckling sunlight. It became a panic; each vial he found was either empty or mere drops remained of the dulling succor. He gave fractured casks to the walls and cared little for the chips of wooden confetti that sprinkled the floor in a chunky carpet; while catapulting piles of old newspapers and various other outdated papers into the air. Only a voice repeating his name caused him to stop and study the carnage he had stockpiled en masse. He sobered for a few moments before his pride got the better of him.

"Why are you here?" He slurred bitterly, while continuing to rummage for the numbing elixir he craved. Only the scraping of his worn boots on the gritty floor fumbled into his hearing and for a few moments he considered he was imaging her manifestation, again. He pilfered a quick browse in the direction he thought she was standing, by masking it for a further search of his restorative, and the blur of red he caught in his hazy vision proved he was not imaging this time.

"How rude of me to not offer you a seat or something to drink but I'm afraid I'm a bit low on liquid refreshment and your rear is too refined for my seating accommodations." He bayonetted her with toxin and even in his semi-inebriated status, her recoil was not overlooked.

"This is the wine talking; Arno Dorian would never speak to me with such a venomous tongue." Elise replied, recovering quickly and dismissing his rudeness with a biting glare and a furious emphasis on each word.

"Why are you here Elise? What more do you want from me?" Arno sighed, exasperated that his search for more wine lead nowhere and that Elise wouldn't leave him to wallow and drown in his misery.

"I'm here because I love you and I can't stand to watch you wither away when there is still so much you and I can accomplish and finish, together." Her voice had softened and the hand she placed on his back lingered as though she wanted to free him from the memories that chained him in Versailles.

He tried to shrug her off but succeeded only in tripping over the refuse that he had accumulated and capsizing into a pile of garbage and plaguing memories. He lay there, paralyzed with grief and the ache of an unhealed injury from his bar fighting. The alcohol only anesthetized so much and as he struggled to roll away from the trash that was stabbing his bruised ribs and Elise's concerned touch, he blacked out.

. . .

Arno woke saturated in sweat and in a room lit solely with a single sputtering candle. Its light reflected exactly how he felt; weak and sickly. As the candle struggled to illuminate the surroundings; the room's harshness became clearer. The blotches of missing plaster and wallpaper that hung limply from the wall like flayed rotting flesh were blunt reminders of how disheveled and unkempt the building had become. He groaned, his voice grainy and harsh, as though someone was grinding stones into a smooth marble floor. He slowly turned his head toward the light as to not upset his tender ribs and agitated stomach and was momentarily blinded and nauseated by its wheezing flicker. He began to raise his arm to shield his face from the wavering beam, but discovered his body too feeble to complete the action and his arm flapped useless across his chest. A scraping sound punctured the silence and a light grew and expanded around what Arno realized was a door that had become swollen from the dank condition of the building. A form heaved the door closed behind them and an explosion of flaming red hair and blue clothing burst into the candle light causing Arno to groan again.

"Arno…" Elise spoke his name in consolation as she unburdened herself from paper wrapped bread and cheese. The smell assaulted his nostrils and the bile rose in his throat, gagging him as he fought the cold sweat and queasiness that accompanied his withdrawal. He endeavored to retreat from the ambush but his injuries reminded him that he could not.

"Sshhhh, try to be still. The doctor said you need food and rest." She escorted an ice cold cloth to his forehead as he braved his symptoms to glance at her. The shadows were cruel on her face; worry and sleeplessness exacted a heavy price on her features. Her hair was a fiery nest of loose strands and what he could see of her clothes, was dotted with dust and dark stains which he automatically assumed were blood and knew was most likely not her own.

"A doctor?" He croaked from behind parched, cracked lips. He tried to swallow but his mouth felt choked with sand. Elise turned away from him, resting the cold salve on his forehead while pouring some liquid into a goblet. She delicately lifted the chalice to his lips, silencing any further questions he might have had.

"Slowly, slowly." She fussed motherly, using her sleeve to dap up the water dribbling down his heavily stubbled chin. He wanted to feel foolish; lying on a greasy pallet that camouflaged neatly with the decaying surroundings; blemished with innumerable stains in varying degrees of darkness and size. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to feel much beyond his physical ailments. He no longer had a means to an end; the purpose he created for himself gone. Cast out of the Assassin's and the woman he loved wanted revenge more than she desired him; Arno was adrift on a sea on spirits; the dead and the liquid. He wanted to shove her away and demand to know why she had come here, what did she want from him; but all he could do was lay still and wrestle with the seasickness while she tended him.

"When you collapsed I feared the worst and I was able to drag you into a more secluded area so you would be safe from any vagrants while I tracked down a physician." She explained as she occupied herself with preparing a meal with the bread and cheese she had somehow procured. He felt her eyes upon him when the sound of her tearing the bread had ceased. Yes, that's right Elise look how far I have fallen and part if not most of my current situation is your fault; is what he wanted to say but he held his tongue. He was too disgusted with himself to utter anything in defense. His leap of faith in himself and his cause to find her father's killer landed him into a pile of shit and he no longer cared.

"Do you think you can keep any food down?" Elise asked and when he didn't respond she sighed in frustration.

"Arno, if I can help you I will but if you cannot help yourself, then…" She began as though she wanted to lecture him but was unsure where her thoughts would take her.

"Then what Elise? You'll leave me again? Then go, it's not the first time and it certainly won't be the last. You don't want me to save you then why would I want you to save me." He spat as indignantly as possible, but it came out sounding juvenile and pathetic. He flirted between wanting to vomit and how much it would hurt his ribs if he actually did.

"Do you know what I've risked coming here? Do you have any idea what's happening in Paris? While you submerge yourself in self-pity and regret, I still search for my father's killer as fear and despair plague our countrymen. I didn't come here to save you, I came here because I love you. I am a Templar, sworn enemy of the Assassins and while you might not belong to them any longer they still linger to watch you and make sure you don't further embarrass their ridiculous Creed. I walk around with a target on my back everywhere I go; as a noble I am seen as the cause of the terror in our country and as a Templar I am perceived as a threat to everyone else, most of my own even want me dead." Her words were profusely spiced with abhorrence that how dare he question her presence. He was too drugged on his hangover that he wasn't sure how to respond or even he even should. He heard what she said but he just couldn't bring himself to care.

"Well now that all of that's been aired out, you're next. Arno, you reek." She took his mute retort as yielding the argument to her and moved on to more pressing matters, which apparently meant a bath.

. . .

He lay prostrate as she dragged a beaten metal tub into the main room that she had explained was salvaged from somewhere else in the home. The light that trickled through the boarded windows and the depressing candle was enough to show that the tub most likely belonged to the servants, as it was quite plain and appeared well employed. She had started a fire in the hearth of a neighboring room and kept busy dumping scalding water into the tub through the use of a leaking wooden pail. Elise huffed and puffed more vigorously with each bucket load, but did not complain. He had been able to swallow some of the food she had brought and felt better with a stomach more full of bread than wine. Some strength returned to him when she knelt next to him and stated with a mock subservient tone, that his bath awaited, while a smirk quickly glinted across her face; that smile could wake the dead. She aided him in sitting up and then slowly standing as vertigo briefly clutched him while he fought to gain sturdy footing. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she balanced his weight against her strength, not realizing how weak he had become until he tested his unstable legs. The air held a hint of chill as he realized he was shirtless and was almost gripped by modesty until he saw how carefully she avoided touching the deep bruising that freckled his left side.

"The hot water will help ease the discomfort." She assured him when she saw how his gaze lingered on the injury. She guided him to the tub's threshold and indicated that he shift his weight to the lip of the steaming basin as she reached for his trousers.

Arno tensed, "I can undress myself," which promptly gave Elise pause to snort in disbelief.

"You can barely stand, Arno. You've scarcely managed to survive off of wine for weeks, while at some point during your career as the town drunk, managed to get into a fight that nearly broke several of your ribs. Do you remember our hot air balloon ride? If it's modesty that moves you to think you've suddenly sprouted the strength to stand on your own, remember that there is nothing you have under those trousers that I haven't already seen." She almost sounded near school-girl laughter as she scolded him into acquiesce. She paused and waited for more objections and receiving none, released him of his trousers and his breeches. She tapped each calf so he would lift his feet from the floor as she twisted the clothing free of his ankles. The temperature of the room seemed to plunge and the steaming bath was a welcome momentary dwelling for his modesty as well as a freedom from the cold. His arms visibly shook with effort as he began to lower himself into the reservoir of solace.

"Glorious…" He sighed as he allowed his body to sink into the water and mold into the inside of the tub. The heat radiating from the water began to lull him to sleep, until Elise dipped a soapy cloth into the depths and began to scour him clean. He flashed her an irritated glance as she fought the corner of her mouth turning up while avoiding his stare. The water quickly turned a milky white and bubbles began to colonize the surface as Elise lathered Arno's arms and chest. The rhythmic circling of her scrubbing began to serenade him toward slumber.

"Please do try to not fall asleep." He opened his eyes just enough to see her and through the slits of his eyelids; watched her. She had pushed up her sleeves but damp stains were sprouting along rivulets that ran down her arms and sprinkled water spots grew as she splashed the suds around the basin he was soaking within.

"Why, are you afraid I might drown and that you might consider not saving me? Since you never wanted me to protect you in any way." He slid his words right between her feelings for him and her current mood; her auditory reaction echoed off the barren walls and her physical one left Arno rubbing stinging, grimy tub water out of his eyes. When his vision finally cleared, Elise was standing defiantly next to the tub, droplets of water trickling down her exposed arms and the hand she had slapped him with was posed ready to strike again.

"You seek to insult me at every opportunity while I have done nothing but help you." She violently yanked at her sleeves while spinning on her heel to leave, when Arno snagged her coat tail; compelling her to stop. The potency of her fury could not be easily diluted by his simple action, and as she tried to wrench her clothing from his grasp, Arno's body slipped inside the tub and as he plunged under the water, Elise landed hard on her rear and her back met the tub's edge with an unforgiving smack. The landing pummeled the air from her lungs and momentarily stunned her and as she began to caress the pain, she turned to look into the basin and saw only the top of Arno's head.

"You bastard," She swore, snubbing the ache that spread as she moved and diving her arms into the foamy water while using her weight to pull him free; pulling him out on top of her. She ignored the tub as it rocked back and forth spilling most of its contents over her and its former occupant and rolling Arno onto his back.

"Arno, Arno…please," She begged his unconscious form as she stroked his damp face and upon receiving no response she wrathfully began to pound on his chest screaming that he wasn't allowed to die. Not now, not like this. She needed him to help her, to track down and inflict a swift punishment on her father's killer. He was all she had left in a universe that was disintegrating, her only ally in a world that wanted her dead. She rocked back on her heels and frantically searched the dilapidated room for an answer, for solace, for something. She screamed, emptying herself into the silence, until her throat was raw. This was her limit; the moment she knew it was all truly over and that she had failed. With this epiphany; the knowledge that it had reached its conclusion; that she didn't need to fight anymore; was like facing your own grave with understanding and acceptance. The chill of detachment began to slide into her hands like icy gloves and spread up into her arms like a wild vine growing unhindered; congesting and strangling. Emotionally depleted, Elise crumpled against his shoulder, sniffling away her tears and shivering against being soaked in the tub water and the chill of the room and nearly gagged on her own breath in surprise when Arno began coughing up water. She was tempted to slap him again for the anguish he had just cost her, but instead waited until he was able to catch his breath and kissed him so hard her lips began to burn from the weight of her relief. When she ultimately pulled away, she felt his clammy hand delicately anchoring her face close to his own, his eyelashes clumped together, glued by the water that dripped from his body to the floor. The red sheen of fever that covered his eyes was as obvious as the circles festering under his eyelids and the gauntness lurking in his cheekbones. She was keenly aware of his breathing, as he attempted to stifle a cough that threatened to explode in her face. Arno suddenly lurched to his side and began wheezing as spit more water from his mouth.

"Arno…" Elise grabbed a filthy blanket nearby and covered his modesty as she soothed his fit by rubbing his drenched back.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." He croaked, his voice grating and rough from the congestion. Elise doubted his conviction as a fit of shivering convulsed his body and the chattering of his teeth echoed stubbornly before he fought his mouth closed.

"You're as cold as ice, Arno." She whispered huddling next to him underneath the flimsy woolen blanket. She felt air filter through the ragged holes in the covering as she shifted her body next to his; trying to share her body heat. She sensed her clothing dampening against Arno's drenched body and huffed in disgust as she yanked off her wardrobe and used it to absorb the remaining water that continued to bring his temperature down. Clad only in her undergarments, Elise guided the shivering Arno to face her and enfolded her arms and legs around his body.

The air did not hold a chill, but Arno continued to combat bouts of trembling shivers. His breath struck her exposed neck in pants and each inhale shook his weakened frame. She visually probed the night-clouded room for more blankets, but the ailing candle vomited such a weak light that her eyes began to burn from strain. He entombed himself in her embrace, burying his face into the warmth of her neck. Arno's unsteady breathing began to compose itself as Elise's body thawed his out. His arms had been tucked snuggly against his chest, but he unraveled his limbs and spread them behind her back; clutching her in a rigor mortis- like grip. She tenderly ran her fingers down the back of his neck and his grip tightened as she felt goose bumps prick her fingers. Arno sleepily traced his hands over her back, massaging the smooth fabric of her undergarments against her skin. It was soothing and she began to drift off into sleep until the touch of his lips on her own roused her sharply from any intention of respite. Her immediate reaction was to push him away, but she retrained herself because she knew that such a response was based solely on surprise and not desire.

His lips were unexpectedly parched but as Elise hesitantly pursed her own delicately against his, the warmth of their pressed bodies drew moisture to her face. A flush of wild fire liquefied her flesh into sweat droplets and it felt as if all the remaining water that Arno had nearly drowned in had condensed into steam. His lips guzzled hers and his fervor pushed Elise onto her back, where Arno guided her arms over her head and enclosed her wrists in his fists. He was completely defenseless above her; his nudity blatant against her dainty-sheer undergarments. The silky material rubbed against her skin as he pressed his body urgently against hers. His near-drowning had given him a new found virility and he thrust his hips against Elise, coercing her to molt her remaining clothing. She slyly slipped her wrists free of his grasp and took his face in her hands while swathing her thighs around his waist. Arno began to lower his body fully against hers as their kissing became more impassioned and frantic. The decaying building, the dying country, Templars, Assassins…all were forgotten as Arno and Elise submitted to each other. As he plunged into her, she came up for air; her gratifying pants echoing off the crumbling walls of the mansion. Gripping fistfuls of his hair, Elise piloted his lips down the side of her neck to her chest. As his tongue tasted her puckered nipples she cried in ecstasy, pressing her thighs tighter around him in hopes that she could force her legs farther apart. She pleaded with him physically to push as far into her as he could. Arno grunted as his momentum increased, diving deeper inside of Elise. Their lovemaking persisted as her knuckles bleached against his skull and her back chafed upon the grit littered floor. Stripped of its lavish rugs and polished floorboards, her frame became the sandpaper to buff the crusted filth as Arno crashed inside of her again and again. Elise's neck began to arc as her hair became a tangled mess beneath her, such was the force of his thrusting. The blanket covering them had been lost somewhere as they traveled along the room, the candle sputtering to their hectic breathing, skewering the darkness with splatters of stomach-churning light across the walls. His coarse sprouting beard chafed against her face as his mouth eagerly devoured her own, his tongue petitioning her lips to allow him entry. Elise consented and had to pull away to gasp for air so smothering was the embrace of his mouth. Arno liberated her, but he was indecisive as he craned his neck to retrieve her snaking collar. The succulent aftertaste of her still lingered on his taste buds and his palate coveted the soft sweetness of her luscious lips. Already a connoisseur of the delicious dripping juice banquet between her thighs, Arno was a glutton for all of Elise; thirsty for each dewy drop of salty sweat and famished for the friction of her flesh against his own. Her heart felt like it was going to leap its way out of her chest, and as though he knew, Arno grasped her breast firmly into his hand and began to massage it in his grip as though he were molding clay. He suddenly yanked hard, callousing her already rigid nipples as he erupted within her. He remained there, cushioned between her slick thighs as her body trembled with spasms of pleasure not long after he had expended himself.

For several moments, they lay entwined, their heavy breathing abrasive to the silence of the hovel. Elise felt the stubble of Arno's cheek grazing her shoulder with each breath as she robed him with her arms and legs, yet he did not reciprocate the embrace. As the sweat dried upon their clammy skin, she felt his body twitch with chill and he suddenly lurched to his feet. The abrupt movement startled her and she curled onto her side, shying away from the cold that quickly pinched at her naked skin. She retorted by snapping her head around to where he stood, obscuring the candle, which was now pathetically sputtering as it drown in melting max. His silhouette was motionless as he stood barring the candle light; a shadow in a room of shadows, always the Assassin. Elise cautiously pushed herself to rest on her hip, her arm holding her in balance, while Arno continued to stand sentinel over the gasping candle. She rotated to her bottom and drew her knees to her chest for warmth and watched him before speaking,

"Arno…"

"Go." The word was a command, not a request. She sketched him briefly in her mind; his hands were unclenched, his stance relaxed as he stared entranced by the expiring flame. She was confused but on guard, scanning the room with her eyes and ears before standing. She paused, postponing further movement until the sounds she had created died away to leave silence in their wake. For a few moments she feared they were not alone, but she neither saw nor heard the presence of another.

"Arno." Elise spoke his name as though to call him, wake him from whatever emotion held him in thrall. She made a move to approach him until his turned his head toward her voice and curled his fingers into a fist.

"How dare you-"

"Use you? It feels like shit doesn't it? Get out, I will not say it again." Arno marched away from the candle, temporary blinding Elise with its last breaths as he slid back into the darkness she had found him in.

. . .

It had been some time since Connor had sailed on a ship that he did not captain himself, but he promptly bundled some belongings once Alexandre had finished his telling of the plight of his fellow Assassin. He lingered, inches from Sarah's face after a parting kiss, engraving her image into his memory, his hand loitering over her swollen belly and the child that waited within. He placed a firm hand on the shoulder of his son reminding him to keep his mother safe and to heed her words in his absence. He knelt in front of his daughter and she clung shyly to her mother's skirts and held her tiny face in his palm. She gave him a timid smile which he returned in kind. The other Homesteaders saw him off as they paused in their daily routines with words of encouragement and well wishes that Connor packed with even more care then his person possessions.

Alexandre had secured their voyage on a large vessel that promised to make port in Spain and England before its final destination in France. Its first mate boasted of how well she tamed waves beneath her sturdy hull and captured even the weakest of breezes in her cavernous sails. Connor nodded politely to his prideful claims as Alexandre paid for their passage. Connor silently sized up the ship and her crew, scouring for anything suspicious and came up empty-handed. The deck was clean and organized and all hands on board knew how to handle their tasks. Few gave them pause as they were directed to their cabin, since Connor and Alexandre were outfitted in the camouflages of colonial garb.

"A friend once invited me to see his home and I never took him on up the offer." Connor stated to Alexandre as they carefully descended into the bowels of the ship down the narrow precarious ladders and stairs.

"Will you seek him out?" The Frenchman asked as they squeezed past crew preparing the ship for cast off.

"No I do not think I will, last I heard he was occupied with your revolution."

The voyage was uneventful and excruciatingly slow. Connor and Alexandre traded stories of the Brotherhood's history when not busy avoiding the few other passengers to practice some sword play within the moderately crowded cargo hold. Neither man shared any history of their own lives though; Connor being too private and Alexandre more concerned with Arno, whom he spoke of often and with a heavy heart. He could see he greatly admired this Arno and understood why Alexandre had come to him for help.

"Your father, he was a Templar was he not?" Alexandre asked between breaths as Connor skillfully parried a swing by the younger man.

"He was, yes, but his father was not." Connor shoved him away figuratively and literally, not wanting to discuss his misguided misfortunes of the past.

"I have never met a Templar." Alexandre almost sounded disappointed as he lowered his weapon and picked up a towel to douse his sweat covered brow. He pushed down the sleeves of his shirt that he hiked up during their mock duel and sat on a barrel to quench this thirst on a water bucket at his feet.

"They are not much different from us. They are still people." Connor picked up the metal cup from the bucket and helped himself to the water as well, choosing his words carefully. He knew the other man was arriving at a point but did not want his experience to poison it.

"Arno, he tried to work with the Templar woman, but it did not end well. He killed one of us…but only after discovering that our mentor was killed by the man he murdered." Alexandre did not want to show Arno in a guilty light but killing another assassin made it hard not to.

"You already know I thought Assassins and Templars could work together if our goals are aligned, but if the path to those goals is not walked by both sides, together and at the same time, then it will not and cannot be reached."

"You killed him because he did not want to follow your lead then."

"No, I killed him because I would not follow his."

. . .

This building had become a sarcophagus; it forgot nothing, forgave even less and buried everything else under the delusion of a peaceful rest. It _was_ in a state of rest, the wake before the funeral when rot and the buildup of filth were smothered in incense and overly perfumed flowers, like a sewer clogged with the carcasses of diseased rats and human excrement covered with a white sheet embroidered with lace. You knew what was underneath but it was easier not to look. The austere walls tried to hide the outlines of portraits that once adored them by undressing themselves; shedding their paper trappings like a tired old whore. The refuse that congested the corners and choked doorways had only multiplied since Elise's absence as had the days Arno was inebriated. The echoes of the rise and fall of would-be revolutionaries and wannabe heroes of France were dulled by his addiction to the muffling effects of heavy wine consumption. Their pounding footsteps outside the hollowed out shell, died just before they did and their names and pathetic deeds were forgotten just as quickly. He was thankfully left untroubled and undisturbed by the raucous of France's decline into a carnage blessed by all. While the country fed upon itself, Arno was nourished by his plague-ridden memories along with bottles and casks of pilfered wine. That is what Arno's current residence had been decaying toward and the brief presence of Elise had done nothing to change that state.

In a moment, like when a breeze laden leaf is brushed aside for the sun to quickly blind you, Arno had imagined that two men had intruded upon his kingdom of dirt, one he might have known in another life, but the other was a stranger. In his constant haze of drunken hours, Arno had forgotten them, thinking they were the lingering scavengers of Versailles, who liked to pick at old dry bones as if there was anything still left to be found. They too vanished like the others, as though Arno was on display in a zoo and his inactivity in the habitat created by himself was boring and lackluster. He _had_ created it himself, thinking he was building a wall when in reality he had built a cage. To make matters worse, he had lost his father's watch in an altercation the night before…or maybe it was several days ago. His memory of the recent betrayed him, fled his mind like a feather snatched by the wind, it was only the old memories that lingered; the painful ones he had been trying to drown in drink.

"You see? He is not even himself anymore, mon ami." Alexandre had brought Connor to Versailles which reeked of garbage, guillotined hope with despair and desperation hiding in every corner and shadow. Connor was alarmed at how far the country had fallen in upon itself. It was like a fox with its foot in a snare and instead of gnawing off its leg to save itself it was devouring the rest of its body. France and Arno seemed to be symbiotic; the dying of one was also killing the other.

"I cannot help you Alexandre, he is too far gone. Perhaps if he had wandered from our Creed I could help guide him back, but from what you have told me, he abandoned the Assassins and orphaned himself." The other man's face pleaded but his eyes knew Connor's words to be true. He nodded in silence and extended his hand toward their waiting carriage when he quickly snagged Connor's arm and pulled him into an alley.

"We are being watched."

"I know, she has not tried to hide her interest in us." Connor had seen the woman studying them from another abandoned building nearby. She loitered in a broken doorway, her hand resting causally on her sword. She was cloaked but her stance clearly marked as female.

"Mon dieu, it is her!"

"Then let us speak to her, if she is Arno's woman then perhaps she can assist us." Alexandre tried to reach out and stop, warning him, but Connor's determined pace quickly outdistanced the other assassin's cautioning tone and grasp. Connor did stop to make sure Alexandre was following, he had no knowledge of the language and needed the Frenchman to assist in translating. Something on the ground as Alexandre hurried toward Connor caught his eye, it was round and the sunlight hit its grungy surface enough to make it gleam slightly in the dusty street.

"A watch…" Connor spoke to himself as he pocketed the timepiece and strode toward the woman with Alexandre in tow. She made no move to greet them as they approached but also did not slink away like many of the other frightened citizens of the city had done when the two men walked its streets. She watched them but her gaze was constant and in motion of everything else around them, as though they were a distraction from something else at play. Connor realized she was on alert, but not from them.

The two assassins nonchalantly slowed their strides when they were within a few feet of her and lingered within her eye sight so that she could visually frisk them and they do the same in turn. Elise made no move to conceal her sword nor Alexandre his; Connor's tomahawk was completely out of place with his plain clothes it looked ridiculous. His skin color intrigued her; this man was most definitely an assassin, but from where she could not place. She had seen the watch he had lifted from the ground which she had been afraid to claim, thinking it some rouse to force her to reveal her presence to any enemies.

"Why are you here, have you not caused him enough trouble?" Elise criticized, walking from the doorway into the condemned space where filth found asylum. She wanted to be out of hearing of anyone nearby and she had already made sure the walls in the building, that looked as beaten as the people that scurried outside of it, did not have ears.

"We are not here to cause him trouble, we want to help him." Elise began to laugh at Alexandre's innocent statement. He sounded so stubbornly virtuous; something so out of place in a country that pleasured itself on picking its own scabs and watching them bleed.

"Help him? You want to help him? Have you seen what your help has done? No, you're not here to help him, you're here to make sure he digs himself into a grave."

"Elise-" The pleading in Alexandre's voice was all that stopped her from sliding her drawn sword through the soft flesh of his neck, that and the tomahawk that had come to rest inches from her face, imbedded in the rotten wood of a pillar she was standing next to. Once her surprised glance left the axe, it was greeted by the barrel of a gun held by the foreign assassin. This one was dangerous; the way his eyes followed her like a hungry wolf, he did not care who she was, only that he starved for a reason to kill her.

"Connor, non, please wait." Alexandre placed his hand on the pistol as Connor moved toward Elise and retrieved his weapon.

"You speak English? Why has this one dragged you here?" Elise fumbled slightly as she spoke, the words did not come easily to her tongue. Connor didn't respond at first, his surprise at her knowing English robbing him of speech.

"I have experience in dealing with Templars besides assassinating them."

"Experience? So it's not all hiding behind some creed and killing us because you're told to?" She was slightly amused and feeling brave enough to jab words at Connor now that he had lowered his weapons.

"I thought like Arno did once, that we could work together, that a common purpose could bind us, make the two halves whole. I was wrong. One side will always have a stronger conviction that their way is right, that although the goal is the same, the ways to reach it never are." The truth he spoke, it cut her deeper than any sword ever could. Arno loved her, more than he wanted revenge or redemption and he sacrificed the only means to help Elise by trying to help her. The epiphany silenced her until the one named Connor pressed something into her hand.

"I saw you, how you tensed when I picked this up as though you wanted to stop me." Arno's watch. She began to speak, but he had already turned his back on her and was walking away, Alexandre's look of apologetic pity was the last she saw of the two assassins.

. . .

"Arno." He looked so dejected, hunched in front of the skeleton of a place she once called home. His face quickly changed to one of surprise and almost hope, especially after she released his father's watch into his outstretched palm.

"You look like hell."

"You look like you want something from me."

"That's a fine thing to say after you up and vanished!"

"You made if fairly clear you no longer required my services."

"Don't! Don't you dare talk to me like that."

"What do you expect me to say Elise? "Forgive me for not letting me die." I'm sorry that I care more about you then about killing Germain?"

"I thought we wanted the same thing."

"What I wanted was you. I can't bare the fact that my carelessness got your father killed. Everything I've done since then has been to fix that mistake. And to prevent it from happening again. You must have come here with something in mind. What was it?"

"Paris is tearing itself apart. Germain has driven the Revolution to new heights of depravity. The guillotines operate nearly round the clock now."

"And what do you expect me to do about it?"

"The Arno I love wouldn't have to ask that question. You're better than this. I'm going back to Paris – are you coming?"

"There is one last thing I need to do."

"All right. I'll go see to our transportation. Stay out of trouble." She paused and smiled at the memory before meeting his eyes, "Don't get caught."

Fin


End file.
